


the answer and the promise

by tigerlilytree



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s08e03 The Long Night, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 15:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18741706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerlilytree/pseuds/tigerlilytree
Summary: Jaime had not thought he would survive the night. He was old, and his remaining hand was not trained well enough. And he knew, he knew. He would have stepped in front of any blade, claw, or bite that had gone for Ser Brienne’s throat. But she had not let them get that close. She had fought viciously. And he had not died.Maybe the Gods had given him his answer already.





	the answer and the promise

**Author's Note:**

> to console myself for the writing in the show, I wrote what I thought should've happened after the long night.

As dawn broke, the sunshine spread among the dirtied snow piled with the dead.

What struck Jaime the most was not the numbers, though there were thousands upon thousands of corpses, nor the appearance of the dead, which spanned from crusted skeletons to the damp bodies of those killed in the battle. No, what struck Jaime most was the smell- that is, how it wasn’t as bad as he expected.

Looking at the bodies that filled the ramparts and courtyard, Jaime found he could not smell decay or rot. It smelled as the battles he’d seen before had smelled- of fresh, coppery blood and shit. The wights gave off no stench. All Jaime could smell was those who had not been dead before dusk.

Tyrion came to find him, wandering out of the crypts looking five years older. He handed Jaime bread and wine before even speaking. Jaime scarfed down the bread and chugged the wine, feeling his head spin a bit before looking back down at his brother.

“How was the fight?” Tyrion asked.

“Bad. My sword shoulder is killing me, I think it’s dislocated. I’ll find out when the shock wears off. How were the crypts?”

“Horrid. Dead Starks came to life and broke out of their memorials.” Tyrion took back the wineskin. “And now you’ve drunk all my wine.”

“Dead Starks?” Jaime asked. “Huh. Why didn’t that occur to us beforehand?”

Tyrion shrugged. “We always assume what is long dead will never come back to haunt us. It’s a lesson we have yet to fully learn.”

“I hope we’ve learned it by now. I can’t take any more wights.” Jaime sighed, leaning against the stone wall. “What happens now?”

Tyrion looked out over the piles of dead, the body of the dead dragon draped across the courtyard. “We clean up, burn the fallen, eat dinner, sleep, start thinking about Cersei tomorrow.”

Cersei. Gods, they still had to face Cersei. Even thinking of her made Jaime seize up and panic inwardly. She would never forgive him for abandoning her. He would never be sure if he wanted her forgiveness. He looked back at Tyrion, who looked at him.

“Before the battle began, I was standing in the snow, my dead son’s sword in my hand, and asked the Gods why they lead me here. Why I was here, what did it mean to face down death itself.” Jaime said. “What it would mean to die, here and now. And in the damned North. What it would mean to survive.”

Tyrion looked at him queerly. “And did they answer your question?”

Jaime shrugged. “I honestly don’t know if there’s an answer.”

Tyrion looked away from him. “I think, that perhaps we all must find our own answers to that question.”

Tyrion left after making sure Jaime’s shoulder wasn’t dislocated. It wasn’t, but it was bruised and twisted to hell. Still, it was a complete arm, with all five fingers still on it. So Jaime went to work, ordering soldiers to begin dragging the dead out beyond the castle walls.

Jaime watched over the soldiers who carried the bodies and corpses to the field beyond Winterfell. He had tried to help but found he could only do so much with one hand. He had surprised himself during the battle, yelling orders and finding himself a leader again. He felt it did not suit him as well as it used to. The role was like a leather glove too long in the sun- stiff and shrunken. He had trouble feeling at home in it again.

Jaime had not thought he would survive the night. He was old, and his remaining hand was not trained well enough. And he knew, he knew. He would have stepped in front of any blade, claw, or bite that had gone for Ser Brienne’s throat. But she had not let them get that close. She had fought viciously. And he had not died.

Maybe the Gods had given him his answer already.

The mud of the courtyard began to show again as more bodies were carted away. The Dragon Queen had to be convinced to use her remaining dragon to carry away the body of her departed one. As Jaime watched her stand, lost, in the yard, he saw that her coat was encrusted with blood, and her face was bruised and red. She had given much of herself over to win the battle. She mounted her dragon and carried the dead one far away, past the tree line, and did not return.

It was nearing dusk when the courtyard was clear of the dead. They planned to burn them all at dawn. A mass funeral, set to the biggest pyre known to Westeros. Those who wished to could wash and prepare the bodies of the fallen. The wights would be burnt as well. A precaution, but still. Jamie would not feel safe until every corpse was cooked.

The work being mostly done, Jaime found a quiet corner of the yard and slid down the stone wall, feeling his arse sink into the mud three inches. It didn’t matter much. He was coated in shit and blood from head to toe. He tilted his head back and leaned against the stone. It was freezing, the cold wind seeping into the bricks. He closed his eyes and began scratching at his beard, trying to clean it of the mess. His shoulder with the arm still attached was screaming, but it could wait.

It was likely he would not be seeing a proper bath. He was not a general or noble anymore, just a soldier. He would dunk his head in a barrel of melted snow. Gods, how he would love a bath, to sink into hot water and relax his aching body, clean himself of the stench of battle.

“Ser Jaime,” a voice said from in front and above him. “Are you dead?”

“No, I’m just resting.” He slid his eyes open to look up at her. “And you, Ser Brienne?”

She gave him a brittle smile. “Bruised. My rib is broken. But alive.” Brienne’s brow furrowed and she grew serious. “Do you need to eat?”

He shook his head. “My brother came by and gave me some victuals. Have you eaten?”

Brienne shook her head. “I’ll eat after I wash. Care to join me?”

Jaime scoffed, tilting his head back and forth and feeling the crust on the back of his neck shift. “Yes, I think I will. Have they brought out barrels of water already?”

“Lady Sansa has given me permission to use the baths beneath Winterfell.” Brienne tilted her chin upwards a bit. “I am extending this permission to you, in return for you saving my life during the battle.”

Brienne’s face was hard, and Jaime knew she wasn’t joking.

“It was a battle, you did it for me many times as well,” Jaime replied. “And I don’t want you to invite trouble on my behalf, inviting a Lannister into the Starks’ bath.”

“I am not. I explicitly asked if you may join me.” Brienne’s face glowed red as she recognized her phrasing. “Lady Sansa allowed it.”

Jaime raised his eyebrows but felt too weary to comment on her words. He nodded, then bent forward and pushed himself up onto his knees. His good arm was too weak to go further, and he felt a moment of panic as he realized he needed help, but Brienne was there, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him upright.

“Thanks.” He said, winded. He was so tired. “How are you still standing? You fought so fiercely I’d have thought you would collapse by now.”

Brienne began walking and Jaime followed behind. “I have not stopped moving since the battle. The minute I do, I’m going to collapse.”

Jaime felt his cheeks crack the dried blood on his face as he smiled. “Still as stubborn as always, I see.”

Brienne nodded in response, turning into a doorway that lacked its door. She went right down the hallway and followed it all the way down before opening a smaller door and going down the stairs behind it. Jaime felt his hand along the wall and gingerly stepped down the damp stones. They were silent until they turned a corner and the stairwell opened into a large, dark room lit with torches.  
The walls were wet, and roots drooped down from the ceiling. There were no windows, and the room felt stifling. There was one large bath with carved stone steps leading into it. The water, though still hot, was murky. It was used before, probably by Jon Snow or Lady Sansa or by the other highborns who had fought. It didn’t matter, it was warm and wet and better than he would get above ground.

Brienne walked around the pool and stopped, facing the far wall. She peeled her cloak away from her shoulders, folding it and laying it on the ground. She unhooked her sword belt, leaning it against the wall. It slid a bit on the wet, but she caught it and held it in place before it could fall. She then began prying her armor open. The clink of her armor echoed in the room. Jaime found he could not move his eyes. He felt like stone, like he had frozen in the snow. Her gauntlets she laid on top of the cloak gingerly. He had had the armor made for her, had estimated the measurements and gotten them right. Brienne reached her arms over her shoulders and unlatched her spaulders, catching them in her wide palms and laying them beside her gauntlets on the ground. The harnesses holding the arms of the suit up were revealed, and she pulled back the latches and the metal slid down and off, showing the stained woolen undershirt. She reached up to her neck and undid the gorget around the top, then unhooked the chest piece. The metal skirt was all that was left, and she untied it deftly and laid it inside of her chest piece. This was a routine. She had done in less than two minutes. Jaime wondered how out long she had been doing it.

Brienne turned back towards him, and her eyebrows were raised. “Did you need help taking off your armor?”

Jaime felt his mouth open as he jerked a bit, the words shaking him from the stupor. “No, I don’t need any help.” He spoke without thinking. His one good arm was in a state, and it would be a challenge unhooking his armor.

Brienne nodded and turned away, her fingers at the hem of her undershirt. She rubbed it a bit, then tilted her head back over her shoulder.

“Turn away.” She said.

Jaime turned to face the wall before her words sunk in, and then he replied, “You know, we’ve bathed together before. It’s not like I haven’t seen you before now.” He took off his golden hand slowly, careful to not jostle the stump, then undid his sword belt.

He heard soft fabric hit the ground behind him. “I don’t care if you’ve seen me before.”

“Well, it seems like you do care.” Jaime began to wrestle with his spaulders. He managed to get a finger under one and flick the latch. It fell and clanged to the ground. He cursed quietly at how the clang echoed, his back tense. He tried to get his other one off, but it was on the same arm as his hand and sat too low to get a good grip on it. He would come back to that one.

He unlatched the uncovered arm harness and let it fall to the ground, then reached behind his neck to get his gorget open. His fingers slipped and rubbed at the latch but wouldn’t catch at the edge. He cursed as his shoulder pulsed with pain.

“Put your arm down and let me.” Brienne was closer than before, a foot behind his back, and Jaime jumped at her voice. Slowly, he lowered his arm and heard her take one step. In the heat of the room, he couldn’t tell how close her body was. He felt the pressure of two hands come up to his gorget and swiftly unhook it. It swung open around his neck and a pale hand came around to his front to grab at it. He followed the wide, calloused palm to the curved wrist and the plain of the forearm with his eyes before it was snatched backward.

“Keep facing forward or I’ll stop and you’ll have to bathe in your armor.”

“I don’t know what you’re so worried about. I’m too tired to be vulgar.” Jaime felt warm fingers at the base of his neck, hot through the shirt. It moved to one shoulder, undoing the remaining spaulder.

“Do you remember the first time we met? When you were a prisoner of the Starks? You were tired then, and still managed to call me a beast.”

Jaime breathed deep as the spaulder came away from his arm. He felt it and his gorget as she placed them beside his left foot. “I wasn’t in my right mind. And I wanted to make you angry.”

“And you’re in your right mind now?” Brienne undid the arm harness and it slipped and fell into her waiting hand. Her fingers brushed against Jaime’s as she guided it off his arm before it was laid beside his other armor at his feet.

“I think I am. As much as I can be, after fighting an army of dead.” He felt her fingers slip under the ties at the top of his northern chest piece and pull away the knot on one shoulder then the other. It fell down his chest and onto the floor, leaving him in his leathers and boots.

Brienne stepped away. “You can take care of your clothes, yes?” He heard splashing as she stepped into the pool and a long sigh.

Jaime nodded to the wall, then grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and slowly pulled his stump-arm free, pushing up the shirt with the crook of his elbow and letting his bare stump into the torchlight. He then bit down on the sleeve of his good hand and pulled it away. It tasted like shit and old blood. Once his arms were free he yanked it over his head and went to untie his pants. He pulled his smallclothes down and finally stepped out of the puddle of clothes and armor.

“Shall I close my eyes and risk a broken neck after surviving the army of the dead, or can I look where I’m going?” He said, turning around to where the pool was with his eyes shut. There was silence for a bit, and he heard the water move.

“You may look.” She said tersely. Jaime opened his eyes.

All he saw was Brienne on the far side of the pool, her bare shoulders and the outline of a pale body under the water. The water was too brown to see deeper. He stepped forward and down into the pool.

The hot water seemed to seep into his bones. He didn’t realize how frozen his insides had become until he felt the bath melt them. He groaned and sunk to his knees. The water rushed over his chest and aching arms. He sat down on his arse and slipped backward so the water came up to his ears. It felt like a poultice on his shoulder.

“You’re not going to faint again,” Brienne said, something tightening her voice.

“No, I won’t faint. I fear I might come, though.” He said with a smile. He smiled wider  
when he heard her hand hit the water.

“Please refrain from doing that while I’m still in here,” she replied.

He sat back up to where the water hit above his elbows and looked around for a brush. Brienne, who was already brushing at her arms, saw him turn his head and reached behind her head. She brought out a wooden brush and laid it on the surface of the water, gently pushing it towards Jaime.

Jaime watched it float towards him and looked back up at Brienne on the other side of the pool. “Why are you all the way over there?”

Brienne tilted a frustrated look at Jaime. “Is it not enough for me to want privacy?”

Jaime grabbed the brush from the water and began scrubbing at his chest. His shoulder twinged in disapproval. “There’s a difference between wanting privacy and self-consciousness.”

Brienne flushed, her jaw clenched. “I don’t care what people think of me anymore.”

Jaime slowed his rubbing a fraction. “Am I ‘people’?”

Brienne was silent. She began brushing at the pale body under the water. Jaime moved his brush to his legs, running it down his thighs. The soft splashing of the disturbed surface filled the room.

“Well,” Jaime said, “There’s nothing to be self-conscious about.”

He saw Brienne stop moving out of the corner of his eye, but focused on brushing the bottom of his feet. In a few seconds, she began to brush again.

They worked mostly in silence. Brienne shifted a few times to get at her calves and behind her shoulders. She leaned forward to wipe at her lower back, and Jaime thought he saw a brown nipple under the surface before she was leaning back again. She was done with her body before he was, and she turned behind her head again and brought out a bar of hard soap. She broke off a small piece before floating it towards Jaime. It approached him and hit him in the chest. He looked back and saw Brienne working her soap to a lather between her hands, then running her hands over her face and neck and hair. Red and brown streamed down, and her yellow hair began to show again.

“Brienne,” Jaime said and cursed himself as his voice broke, “Um, could you-

Brienne splashed water onto her face and looked back at him. He sat, and thought he probably looked quite pathetic, and it dawned on her that hard soap needed two hands to work.

Without speaking, she moved towards him, shuffling on her knees. As she came closer to him, he almost closed his eyes. But she hadn’t asked this time, and Jaime was a greedy man. He could see her small breasts through the bathwater as she moved behind him. She grabbed the soap from the water and broke off another piece, and Jaime could hear her work it with water behind him.

Then, a single finger pressed at the base of his skull, and he tilted his head forward. Fingers, wet and strong, threaded themselves through the hair at the sides of his head. She began to scrub out the muck in his hair, rubbing at his scalp and pulling the dried clumps of stone and matter. He dare not move, afraid she would spook like a wild deer.

She moved quickly, pulling strands of wet hair away from his face and leaning forward to scrub through his beard. Her palms skimmed his ears. A soapy finger brushed against his lips. His lips parted. It was snatched away. He damned himself.

She pulled her hands off his head and cupped them in the water at his side, then brought her hands up and let the water flow down. She did this three more times, then sat back. He was clean. It was over. He wanted her hands back.

“I should go roll in the mud again,” he croaked.

“Don’t do that,” Brienne said, creeping away from him. “Please.”

Jaime turned around and looked at her. Her whole body was scarlet, making the yellow of her hair stand out even more. The blue of her eyes cut into his. Her hair was still halfway matted and soapy.

“Turn around,” Jaime said. Brienne did not react, just stared at him with wide blue eyes. Sapphire blue. “Come on, it’s simple reciprocity.”

Brienne’s mouth dropped open as she lowered her eyes to the water. Slowly, she turned around, the water churning around her. Her reach was big enough that she grasped the edge of the bath, her knuckles white.

“Are you frightened? I won’t try and wash your hair with the stump, you know.” He said in a quiet voice.

“I’m not frightened, not of your stump.” But Brienne’s shoulders were next to her ears. “Why would I be scared of your arm?”

Jaime reached for the soap still floating in the pool. Brienne had started on her hair, but the soap had dripped out by then. He pinched off a bit between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed it on his palm in the water. It didn’t lather much, but it would do.

“Less scared of the arm, more scared at the thought of losing that which defines you,” Jaime replied, as he lifted his hand out of the water. “I defined my life with my fighting, and I lost that which I fought with. A terrifying prospect, really.”

“Terrifying,” Brienne echoed before Jaime sunk his hand into her yellow hair.

It was soft, underneath the crust of battle. Soft and thin. He went slower than Brienne had gone. Took his time. He would relax her with his fingers.

He worked the clumps of stuff out from the roots of her hair to the ends. Gathered the hair, pulled it out of her face, rubbed it between his fingers. Cleaned and soothed and rubbed and scrubbed. And still, Brienne’s back was tense and flushed.

Frustrated, he leaned back and said, “Why isn’t this relaxing you? Is your scalp so sensitive or are you just being stubborn?”

“Relaxing me?” Brienne had annoyance in her voice. “I haven’t had my hair washed for me since I was a tiny girl, and even then by near strangers. This is a new, unnatural feeling. So do forgive me for being unrelaxed.”

“But I’m not a stranger,” he replied, reaching for her back to rub it into relaxation.

But Jaime acted unthinkingly. He reached for her with his right hand, his phantom hand, to press into her back as his left was in her hair. His stump nudged the small of her back, and he felt himself flinch and brace for Brienne’s flight. But it did not come. Brienne was still for a second, then relaxed into the touch.

It felt queer. Jaime had run his hands over it fleetingly, checking for damage, prodding the phantom pains, pulling it through clothing. Qyburn had been the only one besides himself to touch his stump, and that feeling was shrouded in a haze of pain. Cersei had hated it, sent him away when she saw it. But Brienne relaxed into its touch.

“Why have you stopped?” Brienne said, tilting her head a bit.

“You- don’t mind, this?” He said, pressing his stump a bit.

“I told you. I’m not scared of it,” Brienne replied. “It’s- it’s a comfort. All it does is remind me of who’s touching me.”

Jaime swallowed thickly. He continued washing Brienne’s hair, his stump at her back, his fingers combing through the last of what remained. It was over too soon, and he pried his fingers from her hair and brought water up to her crown before watching it drip down. He watched the rivulets of water drip down her back and neck, and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He rinsed several more times than needed before finally forcing himself to pull away.

He turned and sat facing away from Brienne, their sides touching, his stump arm to her sword arm. They sat not looking at each other, sitting in the warm water of the bath.

“What gods do you believe in, Brienne?” He asked.

Brienne twisted her head to look at him. “The Seven. You?”

“The Seven too, I suppose,” he said.

“I didn’t realize you were religious at all,”

“It’s not a very strong bond.” He said, chewing at the inside of his lip. “My life has not been particularly happy. My mother died, my father was ruthless, my siblings hated each other, I was hated for breaking my vows, my sister was married off to a cruel man, I was forbidden from being a father to my children, my children-” He broke off, feeling very empty. “My children all died, two of them in my arms.”

Brienne was silent for a long time. When she spoke, she sounded very far away. “I’m so sorry,”

Jaime shook his head. “Before the battle began, when I was standing next to you and waiting for the army of the dead, I asked the Gods why. Why they had given me this life, why they had forced my path in so many ways. Why was I here, why was I such a failure if it only meant I would die so far from any home and so cold.” He hunched forward, leaning into his knees. “And I suppose my understanding is this: If I had died, that would be the answer. I lived a cold life so I could die a cold death.”

“But you lived,” Brienne said.

“Yes,” Jaime said, “But I lived.” And he twisted his body to look at Brienne, at her yellow hair and blue eyes. “And there is the rub. Everything that has happened to me, everything piece of hell I have lived through, has been to bring me here. Killing the Mad King, having three children from my sister, losing my hand. Everything has brought me here. Back to you.”

Brienne’s mouth fell open, and she leaned back. Jaime breathed hard through his nose. He felt as if he’d been fighting. His heart raced. Brienne did not move, and then she leaped up and away from his with an angry shout.

“Gods!” She yelled as she climbed out of the bath and ran to her pile of clothes. Her tall form dripped water, and Jaime wished he had time to react, or at least appreciate it. She pulled out her cloak from under her armor, sending it clattering to the ground as she wrapped it around her body.

“So, this is why you knighted me!” She cried out, her eyes bright as she hunched over and pulled her pants on beneath the cloak.

“What? What, no!” Jaime said, moving to the stairs of the bath and reaching for his pants. “This is not why I knighted you!”

“Oh, Gods, I’m a fool,” Brienne said as she rushed past his arm and up the stairs.

“No, Brienne, wait.” He called out after her, forgetting about his pants and jumping out of the pool only to see the world slide backward and feel red hot pain in his shoulder. “Shit!” He yelled, falling over onto his other side.

He heard wet slaps come back towards him. “Jaime,” Brienne was breathless. “Your shoulder-”

He reached out blindly and caught hold of Brienne’s cloak. “Don’t fucking run, for Gods’ sake, and let me explain myself.”

He pulled himself up with a grunt and forced his eyes open. Her face was pale and blank.

“I didn’t knight you because I love you, I knighted you because you’re the person most worthy of the title I’ve ever met. You are a brutal fighter, brave to the brink of foolishness and loyal to a fault. And you protect others with a fierceness I’ve never seen. You are a better knight than I ever was or could be. And yes, I care for you, deeper than I thought myself ever capable of. Brienne-” He pushed himself up to kneel in front of her.

“I am a failure of a man, a failure of a knight, a failure of a noble, a failure of a father. I have broken sacred vows and oaths and squandered my gifts without realizing I had them. I asked why the Gods made me so inadequate and I was given my answer. I survived so I could spend the rest of my life endeavoring to become a man worthy of your friendship and trust. And that is what I intend to do.”  
Brienne stood in front of him, her hair still dripping down her neck, her cloak pulled tight across her chest. He looked up at her, naked as the day he was born, and felt no shame.

“Alright.” Jaime relaxed, reaching over her legs to pull his pants to him. “I’ve said my piece, you can storm off now if you’d like.”

“Are you in earnest?” Brienne whispered. Her voice was small and fragile. “I can hardly believe you.”

Jaime looked into Brienne’s eyes. “I swear. I would not lie to you. Not now.”

Brienne pulled the cloak into her fist and kneeled in front of him. Her mouth was still open a bit, and the neck of her cloak was damp. She reached a shaking hand to his cheek.

“Brienne.” He breathed.

“Jaime,” she said, and pressed her lips to his.

It was chaste, and shy, and naive, and everything and nothing, and over too quick. Brienne pulled away and gave Jaime a small smile. He smiled back, struck dumb. Brienne wandered back to her armor and began putting it back on. Jaime went to his clothes and hooked them on, all except for the spaulders. Brienne, as she came back to the stairs, came before him and latched the spaulder into place.  
Her hands lingered on his shoulder before she looked at his face.

“I want you to know-” She began, the stopped and swallowed with a click. “I want you to know that you have had my friendship and my trust for a very long time. You have had more than that from me for a very long time. You do not need to be granted that which you already have.” She pressed a hand to the curve of his chin. “In my eyes, you are worthy.”

Something was shaking in Jaime’s chest. Something had snapped. Brienne. Brienne smiled at him, then began walking back up the stairs. Jaime reached his hand up to his mouth, ran his fingers over his lips. The press of Brienne’s lips lingered. Jaime smiled and followed behind her.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: thisbitchemptee


End file.
